


smoke is in your eyes

by Pidonyx



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, THE KILLJOYS ARE NOT MCR, my sister called it ‘properly homosexual’ so there’s that, uh this is short i don’t think i have a lot to tag here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23259409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Ghoul’s disappeared with the ‘Am.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	smoke is in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> here i am again with another procrastination project which is really just a scene i surgically removed from a longer thing i decided i either wasn’t going to finish or would rework so! i liked it enough that i decided i didn’t wanna scrap it and it was a decent enough excuse to shove my own personal headcanons in everyone else’s face
> 
> beta’d by my lovely sister even though she has absolutely no interest in danger days, god bless
> 
> title is from fallingforyou by the 1975 no clowning on me please and thanks

Ghoul’s disappeared with the ‘Am. Poison doesn’t know when or how he’d nicked the keys — out of the right zippered pocket of Poison’s signature blue leather jacket — but the roar of the engine had startled him out of a hazy half-doze in the Diner’s booth, head jerking out of where it had been resting in his palm. His hand had immediately gone for where they should have been and weren’t, but by that point it was too late. The Trans Am was a cloud of dust in the distance by the time Poison had scrambled over to the window, and there wasn’t really anything he could do besides wait for Ghoul to come back.

He hadn’t been expecting this situation exactly, sitting in a booth while Ghoul was out doing who-knows-what with the car, but he had been expecting  _something_ , sort of, because Ghoul has been touchier than he’d been in ages lately. And it’s been nerve-wracking, because Poison had thought they were finally real, actual friends, that he could clamp down on any inconvenient feelings and smooth over the bumpiness from before Ghoul joined the Fabulous Killjoys, and things wouldn’t be perfect, wouldn’t be great, but they would at least be okay. Even if what Poison wanted  _actually_ was something decidedly less platonic. And now Ghoul is acting like some kind of weird amalgamation of Ghoul-from-two-years-ago, who went kind of tired and quiet and sarcastic whenever Poison was in the room, and Ghoul-from-a-week-ago who Poison called “Ghoulie” and would let Poison sit right next to him and hold his hand and whisper things to him and get a smile in response. The kind of person who didn’t ignore Poison like he would have, but certainly didn’t let Poison lean up next to him anymore, who would take the car and fuck off into the desert without telling anyone in the crew where he was going. 

The rumble returns hours later — it’s dark outside the Diner, and headlights briefly flash over the bay window in front as the ‘Am turns past it. The engine noise trundles past out of sight and cuts off in the back of the building, near the shed. Poison waits for Ghoul to come in, but the door doesn’t open, so he gets to his feet, pushing through the back entrance himself.

With the car parked and off, headlights extinguished, Poison can just barely make out the shadowy shape of Ghoul, still in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel. He frowns, striding over and opening the passenger side door so he can slide into shotgun. 

Ghoul’s head jerks up in surprise when the door opens, but almost immediately he goes back to staring through the windshield. His fingers twitch against the wheel, and Poison’s eyes follow the movement, flickering to his hands and then back to his face, almost entirely hidden by the darkness creeping through the car. 

They sit in silence for a while. Poison can hear Ghoul breathing, steady and seemingly relaxed, but the tension in his arms and shoulders would suggest otherwise. Poison’s own heart is in his throat, though it’s more to do with the watery moonlight just barely outlining the bridge of Ghoul’s nose, the top of his lip, the hair falling over his shoulder.

Any anger he might have felt about the Trans Am being taken without his permission has drained away, though he’s not sure he was even mad in the first place; he trusts Ghoul, and trusted that he would bring himself and the ‘Am back safely.

Eventually, Poison feels like he has to break the silence. Ghoul clearly isn’t going to do it, still staring blankly ahead, expressionless (and  _Destroya_ is  _that_ a throwback). He licks his lips, even though his tongue feels dry. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” Ghoul’s voice is rough, cracks a little on the single syllable, as if he hasn’t spoken for hours (and he hasn’t, unless he was driving somewhere to talk to someone, which for some reason Poison thinks is unlikely). “Sorry for taking the car.”

“‘S ok.” Poison licks his lips again. He feels a little wrongfooted, as though he was the one who had pickpocketed keys and vanished for the entire day without saying anything to anyone about it. “You good?”

“Shiny.” Ghoul’s still staring out the window, and as Poison’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he can make out more of his features. There’s a crease between his brows, and his eyes dart to Poison for a second before jumping back to the desert outside. 

“Are you sure? Was kinda worried when you just left. We...we all were.” Poison winces inwardly.  _Stupid!_ That sounded clingy, was way too obvious, just — he cuts himself off, refocusing.

Ghoul doesn’t answer. The scar on the side of his face is a black ink mark in the dark, trailing from the corner of his mouth in a meandering line, and Poison wants to run his finger along it, up to where it almost meets his ear. He clenches his hands together in his lap.

“Ghoulie, would you look ‘t me?” The request comes out softer and a little shakier than Poison would like it to, but Ghoul actually turns his head, meeting Poison’s eyes for the first time. The soft shafts of moonlight making their way into the car catch in his hair, turning it bluish-silver, on his mouth as it falls slightly open, like he’s about to say something, sparks in his eyes, little flashes of incandescent brown. Poison’s breath stills in his throat. He finds himself leaning forwards, like Ghoul has his own gravity, haltingly pulls himself back. He stares at his hands instead, at the little cuts against the nails where he’s bitten the skin ragged. 

“Poison, I — “ Ghoul cuts himself off, drawing a shaky breath. Poison looks up again, blinks. 

Ghoul kisses him.

Poison freezes. Ghoul’s mouth is warm, it’s soft, and his heartbeat stutters frantically, like it’s skipping way too many beats at once, but that’s the only impression he gets before Ghoul is jerking away, scrambling for the keys still jammed in the ignition, hair falling all over his face. “Sorry! Destroya, sorry, fuck, I just — fuck, I’m sorry, Party, I didn’t — “

Poison finally gets his brain to work, to recalibrate with his mouth, and it takes a few split seconds of mouthing syllables but he eventually manages to croak, “Could you do that again?”

Ghoul goes still, head turning haltingly in his direction, eyes wide and glinting softly in the pale blue light. “Uh. Yeah.” His voice cracks in the middle, and Poison’s pulse jumps. Slowly, like he’s nervous that Poison’s going to bite it off, he raises a hand, gently resting it against Poison’s jaw, sweeping a few stray locks of hair back. Poison can’t help but shudder, and he surges forward, grabbing a handful of Ghoul’s hair and slamming their mouths together. 

It is not, by any stretch, the most coordinated kiss Poison has ever had. They’re both twisted over the center console, and the soles of Poison’s boots are sliding against the leather of the seat as he tries to find purchase, but it really doesn’t matter because Ghoul’s kissing him. And his brain keeps looping on that, catching and reversing and repeating it again and again as if that will make it suddenly make sense. 

Ghoul’s hand has slid from his cheek into his hair, and tangled there, right at the base of his skull, and when he tugs Poison can’t help but gasp a little into his mouth. Poison bites down on his lip in retaliation and Ghoul makes a  _noise_ and Poison feels dizzy with it, pushes with his jaw, feels Ghoul shove back. At the same time that his heart is pounding, that he feels like his lungs are being squeezed despite gasping in air between connecting their mouths over and over and over, there’s something so easy about it that Poison feels like he could do this forever. Ghoul’s lips are soft, and Poison can feel the scarred skin at the edge of his mouth catching against the side of his own. Even though they’re pressed against each other hard enough to bruise, it feels gentle, like Ghoul’s trying to treat him sweetly, and that makes Poison’s head spin even more than the fact that  _Ghoul is literally kissing him his tongue is in his mouth he’s literally got his lips on Poison’s right now holy shit._

When they break apart, both of them panting, neither of them go very far. Poison had managed, somehow, in the middle of it, to get across the center console and into Ghoul’s lap, and he rests his forehead against Ghoul’s, closes his eyes and listens to him breathe, ragged and lush with adrenaline. He did that, holy  _fuck_. He keeps his fingers wound in Ghoul’s hair, rests his arms on his shoulders. When he opens his eyes again Ghoul is looking up at him, the corners of his own creased in a smile, and Poison is close enough to see the layers of honey gold and dark brown and near black in his irises even in the dark blue of the desert night. His mouth is bruise-red, dimple appearing as his smile widens. As Poison catches his breath, presses just a little closer, he tries to find words, brain still caught in a loop of  _Ghoul wants to kiss me_.

“I think I might have to take the car more often,” Ghoul says, edges of his voice still just a little breathless, and his tone is so fond that Poison has to swallow hard, even as words spill out before he can even think about it.

“Keep letting me kiss you, baby, and I might just let you do whatever you want.” Any coyness that he might have managed is lost in the fact that his own voice is wrecked, his heartbeat is pumping in his throat and it comes out sounding just a little bit desperate. 

Ghoul laughs, softly, and the sound just makes Poison feel even more drunk on everything that’s happening right now. 

“How long?” He manages to get out, finally starting to breathe more normally again. 

Ghoul sighs. “‘Dunno. Probably about.....four months? Maybe five? I just.” His hand is on Poison’s jaw again, slides down to his neck, thumb moving gently back and forth against the skin there. “I don’t know. I opened my eyes one day and there you were.”

Poison can’t look him in the eyes anymore, not with the amount of soft, gentle affection brimming there, so he buries his face in Ghoul’s neck instead, turning his head so he can press his nose to the side of it, and moving his hands to ball in the front of Ghoul’s vest. “Almost three years,” he says, quietly, almost so quietly that Ghoul wouldn’t be able to hear it, but he can hear Ghoul’s sharp intake of breath and feel Ghoul’s arms press tighter around his waist. 

“But I didn’t know until like, a year and a half ago, if that makes it any better,” he continues, words flooding out, stumbling over each other. “I thought about it, though, after I’d realized, and I’m pretty sure I’d already been in love with you for ages at that point.” Ghoul is smiling against his shoulder, he can feel it, and he gets the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. But another feeling surges up, and he jerks back so he can look at Ghoul’s face, so Ghoul can see his, because it’s really important that Ghoul knows —

“I didn’t hate you,” he gasps, throat feeling tight. “I didn’t ever really hate you, even at first, it wasn’t your fault, I....You reminded me of it, of the City, of the Program, and I took it out on you, and I’m — I’m sorry.” The word feels like acid in his mouth, but he means it and he needs to say it. Ghoul gives him another smile, and Poison can’t wait to learn all the small differences between them, what all of them mean. This one is blindingly warm, and the hand on his neck gently comes up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. 

“I know, Cherry Bomb.” And then he leans up to kiss him again.

Poison doesn’t know how he could ever have thought they were the same person — the cold, dead-eyed boy in SCARECROW training, so clearly on an almost deadly dose of pills when Poison looks back, with a perspective unclouded by his own pills and his own ego, is so entirely removed from the warm, alive, infectiously _human_ killjoy letting Party Poison sit in his lap and kiss him until their lips are raw that it seems almost impossible that they ever were one in the same. Poison certainly never saw him _smile_ in the City, despite the pills; he hadn’t seen a single flicker of personality in the time they’d known each other in the Program, and the contrast between then and now is so jarring that it’s a wonder he ever thought the way he did. Poison knows he’s nothing like he was back in the City, back when he’d been spoon-fed so much propaganda and pills that he’d thought he _wanted_ to be a ‘Crow, how could he ever think Ghoul wasn’t too?

Poison breaks away, panting, just for a second. “Hey. That place sucks. I don’t think we need to talk about it again.”

“Fine with me, sunshine,” Ghoul mumbles, and lets Poison pull him in again.


End file.
